


Arthurian advent calendar (story collection)

by Arthurian maiden (8Daenerys8)



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Be Careful What You Wish For, Brotherly Bonding, Djinni & Genies, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fatherhood, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Genderbending, Holy Grail, Hot Chocolate, Humor, Jealousy, Knitting, Loss of Faith, M/M, Marriage, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Selkies, Time Travel, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:27:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8Daenerys8/pseuds/Arthurian%20maiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25 Short arthurian stories I wrote in 2012 as a sort of Advent Calendar. They are quite short (most of them) and with different themes, setting and characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nimue, Gawain, Djinn

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this collection of stories on my tumblr last year as a sort of Advent Calendar where my followers could pick two characters and a random word and I had to write a little fic about them. Each chapter will have the two characters and the extra word as a title.  
> And a little warning: English is not my first language. I tried my best but this story has not been beta read (so if you see any mistakes feel free to let me know!).

“You are the woman who lives with Merlin.”

Nimue stopped knitting, looking at the young knight who interrupted her toughts. He had hair as red as flames and a stubborn expression on his eager face.

“You are the son of the witch Morgause.”

“Yes, I am Gawain of Orkneys and because I am the son of the witch Morgause I know that your magic is different.”

Nimue smiled, intrigued. “You do?”

“I do. I grew up in a castle were every spider was a magical trick, where the days were dark and the nights were as bright as the sunset if my mother desired so. I breathed magic since the day I was born. You are different. My mother talked to me about your kind.”

“Indeed. She must have.” And she started knitting again. She had work to do.

“So I wish to ask you for a favor, djinn.”

“Ask away.”

“I want revenge on Merlin. He killed my brother. He took my _brother_ and threw him in the sea. He broke my mother’s heart and mind. I want my brother back and Merlin dead.”

“And will you give me your end?”

“My end?”

Nimue sighed. These humans were tiring and all the same. Even this strong knight who thought he could breath magic.

“When you will dead, will you give me your spirit to do as I wish?”

“You can have it.”

“Then we have a deal. Mordred will be waiting for you, he will be an adorable child,” hummed Nimue, on a music Gawain has never heard before.

“And what about Merlin?”

“I am knitting the tunic he will wear the day of his death. Have no fear, young hawk, I am almost done.”


	2. Elaine of Cobernic, Fisher King, Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have always felt like Elaine was trapped, somehow, by his family's circumstances.

The Fisher King had had another dream that night. He had dreamt that the land was dying and that the children couldn’t eat and the mothers were barren.

“It’s all right, we will put things back as they were,” tried to calm him Elaine. Elaine, the beautiful Elaine, his perfect and pure daughter.

“No, dear Elaine, my dear sunshine, my wound will kill the land,” he answered, feeling agitated and on the verge of tears. His words were always the same, balanced between paranoia and delirium. “If I don’t get better the land will _die_.”

“I will do what I can-“

“Your child will find the Grail, my dear, you are my only hope.”

In that moment the door of the old room opened and Brisane came in. Brisane had been old since Elaine remembered. Her old warm comforting friend.

“I have to give him a nephiew, Brisane,” cried Elaine, throwing herself in her arms, closing her eyes and hiding the sight of his diying demanding father.

“You don’t, child, you don’t. It is just the ramblings of an old man-“

“No, please, you have to help me. I have to save him.”

And Brisane tightened her own arms, around Elaine’s crying body. "I will help you, my child."

 

Lancelot came to Corbenic three days later.


	3. Vivian, Guinevak, Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the theme of jealousy.

Guinevak sighs and stops immediately as soon as she realizes what she is doing. She was whining. She remembers all too well the many afternoons and late nights she spent listening to her sister’s whiny lamentations and she has never wanted to be like her.

"He should be tall, very tall," she says, remembering Guinevere's words.

Vivian, sitting in front of her, on the grass, is watching the calm waters of the lake, apparently distracted by the plays of the light.

Guinevak doesn’t know her very well, but she is one of the only friends she has in Camelot.

Everyone else is in love with Guinevere.

"And a champion. The most formidable knight. Blue eyes, reddish hair and wide shoulders," continues Guinevak.

"And this is the man of your sister’s dreams?"

"Yes. Before actually meeting Arthur she kept talking about how she wished he was tall, handsome, heroic. Flowers blooming at his sight. And innocent. She has a thing for innocence. And she can’t appreciate Arthur for who he _is_.”

Vivian is playing with the water now. One of her hands is dancing on the surface of the lake.

"This is interesting."

"Why do you want to know? Why are we even talking about my sister?" asks Guinevak. She actually likes talking about her sister because everyone knows Guinevere and she’s a safe topic of conversation to gain some attentions.

"I wonder if there is a knight like that. The knight of her dreams. A knight _so_ handsome and pure could definitely steal her heart, don’t you think, my friend?"

"Well, maybe. But Guinevere has impossible standards. No human can have the perfection she desires."

Vivian smiles at her. She seems accomplished. Like a big cat. “No human indeed. The son of a fairy could be like that, don’t you think? A man who can steal the heart of all that order and equilibrium. It could start a revolution.”

A shiver runs between Guinevak's shoulders. Sometimes Vivian's words seem to distant from the real world to be reached. "I don’t understand you, sometime. What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, my friend. Just a game. Between me and an old wizard. A bet, we can even call it." Vivian shooks her head, smiling at her. She offers Guinevak a hand which will be as cold as ever. "Let’s go swimming, dear Guinevak."


	4. Tristan, Palamedes, Nostalgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: main character death

Palamedes’ eyes are closed. It’s rarer every minute to see his brownish eyes opening now.

Tristan does what he can with the knowledge that Iseult gave him. Water, warm, cleaning the wound, making him feel safe.

"When I will be dead-" starts Palamedes. Tristan interrupts him. He can’t hear it. The very idea of it makes him want to throw up or to destroy Camelot and Arthur’s court for all the believes of chivalry and the ideas that knights would never die in vain, that death could be honorable.

Death is just death.

"You will not die, my friend. You will live enough to see us all buried in our tombs."

"That is kind of you to say," smiles Palamedes. His eyes still closed.

All for the Grail, thinks Tristan. He is furious. He is angry with Arthur and his silly quest for an impossible object. He is angry at Palamedes because he left for the Grail only to show Iseult that even a pagan like him could find the holy object of the Christian religion. His is angry at himself. He shouldn’t love Iseult. Not when Palamedes loves her so much.

"You are a kind man, Tristan. When I will be dead you should write songs about our story."

"I can’t-" tries Tristan, before nodding because he has tears in his eyes and Palamedes will make fun of him. "I will try," he answers, finally.

"I miss Alexandria. I have been in Alexandria once, my friend. It was glorious. It was- magnificent. I wish your king will build something akin-"

"We will go to Alexandria," promises Tristan, taking Palamedes’ hand in his own. "You, me and Iseult. We will visit Alexandria and your home, near the deserts as you told me. And Arabia. The Mecca. Everything, I promise."

Palamedes smiles again. “Of course, Tristan.”

Tristan would like to whisper him _thank you_. Thank you for letting me make that promise. I have never listened to your stories enough. There are so many questions.

But Palamedes is dead.


	5. Galahad, Dindrane, Chocolate + Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is quite silly. Expect anachronisms.

So this was the Grail. The Holy Cup, the Cauldron, the symbol of the union of the religions who loved so much to fight against each others, looking for non existent truths.

"So this is the Grail," speaks Perceval, with veneration in his voice.

"It seems so. It is beautiful."

"Shiny," comments sir Bors, without moving from the door.

"Shall we take it?" proposes Perceval.

"I think _it_ should take us. To heaven. Or something,” replies Bors.

Galahad ignores them (everyone should have his own journey to the grail) and decides to walk towards the sacred cup.

The cup _is_ beautiful. Elegant, small, perfect to be kept in the warm protection of two holding hands. Galahad is now at just some steps from the cup, he stretches his arm and touches it with hesitant fingers.

It’s warm and smooth.

He takes it.

And just in that moment he notices that there is a liquid in the cup. It’s brownish and it is warm, almost boiling, with a trail of sinuous smoke and a delicious smell coming out of it.

"What-"

There is a note under the cup, written in the elegant calligraphy of Dindrane. Dindrane, the woman who followed them and whose body disappeared after her useless sacrifice to save an old dying queen.

 _Guys (especially_ you _, Galahad)_

_I salute your naivety. I’ve taken the Grail with me. It was quite nice, not at all what I expected. Definitely bigger._

_But I would never like to see you disappointed so I am leaving some nice hot chocolate for you. You don’t even know what cholocate is. Well, you should try it._

_I assure you it’s a lot better than the Grail. Sort of. You can't save people or revive bodies but it will revive your spirit. Drink it and you will understand._

_A hug (and a kiss for you, my sweet Galahad, maybe one day we will meet again) and Merry Christmas._

_Your favourite time traveler,_

_Dindrane_


	6. Morgana, Merlin, knitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another silly one. I fear Morgana is too much related to parody to me (I don't know why, but I think she would make the best arthurian parodies).

"I must go, Arthur."

"Why? I need you! I need you now. It’s almost my marriage and-"

"Arthur," said Merlin, smiling, voice warm with impatient affection. "I understand you are nervous but the girl loves you and you love her, all will be fine."

"You said that the last time. You left Camelot last december, just like every december. And I slept with my sister," answered Arthur, feeling as far from fine as he could be.

"Well, that was just a casuality."

"And the year before I lost myself in the woods. And Pellinore defeated me."

"Well, that was kind of your fault-"

"Why do you have to leave every year at december? It’s bad luck for me."

Merlin tried again to explain him that luck (or bad luck) really didn’t exist but Arthur was a stubborn man.

"If you put it this way then I shall reveal you what I must do every year at this time of year," he spoke, at least, dramatically. "I am an old man and my magical powers need restoring, so once in a year I must put myself in a dreamless sleep so that I can return to you more powerful than before."

During the banquet to welcome the future queen, Arthur kept looking at him suspiciously but, fortunately, he seemed to have accepted the explanation with a certain dose of resignation and, the day after, he let him go without protesting too much.

Meanwhile, in a cold and dark (but still incredibly rich and beautiful) castle of Lothian, two sisters were talking happily about their future plans. Cakes, Questing Beasts, maybe two marriage or four murders.

"And so I shall take the young stableboy and-" Morgause stopped, noticing that Morgana seemed quite distracted. "What are you writing?" she asked, noticing the note that her sister was compiling.

"Just a little something for our old Merlin. This year I’ll take him away from Camelot again, sister, so that you shall work your magic on Arthur’s marriage."

"Marvellous! You never disappoint me."

Morgana smiled at her, proud of herself. Tricking Merlin was both fun and useful. And she was always winning.

She put down the quiver and she looked at her own note, ready to call a travelling crow and send it to the wizard.

On the paper there was written: _Waiting for you at the Knitting competition. Your last hat was incredibly out of fashion so let's see if you mastered the art of the scarf, loser._


	7. Guinevere, Arthur, Camping in the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern au. Canada.

"Are you lost?"  
  
Arthur would like to say _yes_. _Yes, thank you very much, ms stranger, I am lost. I was camping in the woods. I wanted to recuperate my inner self and my connections with nature and something like that. My sister’s idea, really. And I got lost. Which is most embarassing because I used to be a king in Britain, in my past life, and I was the best at it, especially if it involved riding among the woods_.  
  
Instead he finds himself gaping. He supposes he looks quite silly with his glasses broken in half, hair ruffled and sweaty and the look of desperation painted on his face (lost in the woods for nearly a day, he supposes the desperation should be quite clear).  
  
The woman in front of him is perfect. Calm and smiling. Elegant curve nose and short curly black hair. Her skin is dark, perfectly smooth like he remembers and she has a little mole on her left cheek.  
  
She wears the red uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and she is on an enormous white horse. She is absolutely stunning.  
  
"So, are you lost, Arthur?"  
  
And she has recognized him.  
  
Arthur cannot help but smile, cheeks hurting. He is happy and serene as he wasn’t in years.

“Yes, I am lost. Thank you for finding me, Guinevere.”


	8. Bedivere, Kay, Hawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedivere/Kay with a gift.

"You stayed away for nearly a month to find me a _hawk_ ,” shouted Kay, looking furiously at Bedivere.

Arthur eyed them, embarassed. “I- I should go and see- stuff. Stuff about Guinevere. Yes, the queen needs me,” he blurted out, running away from the room and leaving his stepbrother and his trusted knight alone.

"Yes, I sort of did," answered Bedivere, looking something between guilty and hopeful. "I wanted to find a deserving gift but I couldn’t. It has not been easy."

"I don’t care about gifts," whispered Kay. "I don’t care. You stayed away a month only for a gift. I don’t want any other gifts, just, don’t. I am trapped here in Camelot and you knights go away and fights and quest and wathever but my duties are _here_. You were away and I couldn’t go and look for you, I had to ask Lancelot. _Lancelot_.”

Bedivere’s newly formed smile slowly disappeared. “I am sorry. I just wanted- I am sorry, Kay.” He opened his arms, almost timidly, and sighed of relief when Kay accepted the hug and his arms tightened around him.

"Now, let me see that hawk. I hope it is majestic."


	9. Galahad, Mordred, Italian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the story I will translate the sentences from Italian  
> (Reincarnation AU, Galahad/Mordred meeting again)

"I don’t like this," mumbled Mordred, looking around himself. He didn’t like Italy. Too much sun, too much people. No one knew English and the Italian kids made fun of the few words he knew ("Grazie", thank you and "Prego" you’re welcome).

"You never like anything," answered his brother.

"You like too many things, Gareth," protested Mordred. Simply because it was true. Gareth liked too many people (he even adored that strange old man named Merlin and their aunt Morgan… no one ever liked their aunt Morgan).

Gareth simply smiled. He always smiled like that, as if he had a strange secret, something he was the only one to know. Especially since he met Perceval. Mordred hated Perceval (among the other people he loathed) because he was always at their home, pestering his brothers on ancient useless legends.

"Why are we here, again?"

"We are on a holiday, Mordred. Do you remember? The holiday. Gawain’s brithday. Italy?"

"Of course I remember," growled Mordred. "I meant why are we here in Verona alone? I thought we were going to the lake with the others."

"I just wanted to meet an old friend. I think you may like him."

Again, that irritating smile.

 

They walked a bit, looking at the little stands there for Christmas, full of Italian food to try or little gifts to buy. They bought a scarf for their mother and a bracelet for Laurel, Agravaine’s girlfriend, because Agravaine was a disaster at buying gifts.

When they arrived at the bridge on the river, Gareth stopped, starting looking around himself. Suddenly, a voice called Gareth’s name.

“Galahad!”

Mordred looked at the stranger. He was about Gareth’s age, a couple of years younger than Mordred himself. He had blond hair and smiling eyes.

“Mordred, this is Galahad, a friend of mine. He is in Erasmus here in Italy.”

“Wonderful,” commented Mordred, not feeling really impressed.

“Lui è Mordred, l’ho riconosciuto,” answered Galahad, talking to Gareth. In _Italian_ , very irritating, thought Mordred who didn’t know a word in that language while he knew that Gareth was in a position of advantage, having studying Italian for years now.

“E’- lui. Non si ricorda nulla. Vuoi parlare da solo con lui?”

Mordred looked suspiciously, while Galahad blushed. “No, non saprei cosa dire. Non mi conosce più, non sa chi sono.”

“Ti conoscerà di nuovo. Ti ha amato una volta e questo da parte sua è già tanto, conoscendo la sua tanto nota acidità. Guarda,” continued Gareth, “già ti adora.”

“So, have you any intention to talk in some understandable language?” blurted out Mordred.

“Of course,” immediately replied Galahad, smiling again and bushing furiously. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mordred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATED SENTENCES FROM ITALIAN
> 
> Lui è Mordred, l’ho riconosciuto = He is Mordred, I’ve recognised him
> 
> E’- lui. Non si ricorda nulla. Vuoi parlare da solo con lui? = Yes, he is- him. He doesn’t remember anything. Do you want to talk alone with him?
> 
> No, non saprei cosa dire. Non mi conosce più, non sa chi sono. = No, I wouldn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know me anymore, he doesn’t really know who I am.
> 
> Ti conoscerà di nuovo. Ti ha amato una volta e questo da parte sua è già tanto, conoscendo la sua tanto nota acidità. Guarda, già ti adora. = He will know you again. He loved you once and that’s a lot to say about him, you know how angry and nasty he can be. Look at him, he already adores you.


	10. Gaheris, Ragnelle, Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaheris meets Ragnelle.

"You are a witch."

"I am, dear boy."

"You really were awful. I mean, not to offend you- but you looked like a… a hag or something- it was painful to look at you." Gaheris has the decency to sound embarassed.

"And I should care about others being offended by my looks… why?" asks Ragnelle, impassible. That boy is starting to become annoying.

"Well, a lady should be graceful. You were not what I would call graceful."

"I can show you graceful," mutters Ragnelle, gracefully tracing a sign in the air.

"What was that?"

"I think your scabbard is on fire," replies Ragnelle, smiling  _graceful_ , pointing to the scabbard and the sword on Gaheris’ side.


	11. Agravaine, Pellinore, Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agravaine meets a friend.

The other boy is strange, very strange, thinks Agravaine. He is as old as him and he has all dark hairs and his skin is darker than Agravaine. He is very strange.

“What is your name?” he asks. He is curious. There are not many children in the Orkneys, just him and his brothers and sometime some of the villagers.

“Aglovale,” answers the strange child. His hands take the snow and let it fall again.

“Our names!” shouts Agravaine, excited. “I am Agravaine. Our names are similar! This is destiny, like a prophecy!” he continues, wise in his seven years old.

“Like Merlin’s prophecy?” asks Aglovale and Morgause’s son nods. Neither of them has the faintest idea of what a prophecy is but they think they can at least manage to grasp the concept behind the difficult word.

“And what does the prophecy say?”

“Prophecies don’t talk,” answers Agravaine. His mother is a witch. He knows these things.

“Then what do they do?”

“They do dangerous things. And other things. We should... play with the snow,” suddenly proposes Agravaine. A wise move. He has no idea about what exactly a prophecy does. Better to change the topic.

Aglovale, who clearly is a barbarian (They have no manners in Camelot?) suddenly jumps on him, throwing him in the snow, laughing.

“No, no, that’s not how you play with the snow. You have to build things.”

Aglovale looks at him with his enormous eyes, hungrily observing Agravaine’s hands which model the snow, creating a face, a body, a castle. They spend an hour creating the best castle they have ever seen (Agravaine actually wants to send someone to call his uncle Arthur because Camelot is not nearly as beautiful as _their_ castle) when their games are interrupted by a knight.

The knight is tall, enormous, and angry.

“What are you doing?” he asks. His voice is old and harsh.

Agravaine is about to answer that he can do what he wants because he is the king’s nephew when Aglovale speaks before him: “I am playing, father. This is how it is done, with the snow.”

“With him? He is one of Lot’s little poisonous snakes!” continues Aglovale’s father and he takes his son hand, which is cold from being in the snow for such a long time.

Agravaine would like to tell him that he is not a snake. That he is quite human, in fact. And he is quite sure e is not poisonous because a week before his cat bite him and did not die of poison. He only manages to say “I am not-“ that the angry knight has taken away his new friend.

(When he asks Gawain who Aglovale’s father is, his big brother answers “He is the man who took away our father!”. Agravaine feels that he has quite the sensible reason to feel hatred for such a man).


	12. Lynette, Lyonesse, Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue fic. Lyonesse believes in proper manners.   
> Misunderstandigs and Holy Grails.

"Shouldn’t you take a gift?"

"Lyonesse, we are clearly in danger. Actually,  _you_  are clearly in danger. Do you see that knight over there? He wants your castle. We don’t have time for gifts.”

"But, Ly, I can’t ask for Arthur’s help without giving him something. It’s almost Christmas and it would be rude."

" _Alright_. But I am leaving immediately. I have no time to look for a gift. I’ll just tell to the king that we’ll give him something.”

"Tell him that we have a wonderful grail. Lovely."

"I will, Lyonesse. Grail. Wonderful. I can remember that."

Three months later, knights of every age and duty were leaving Camelot to look for a Wonderous Grail.


	13. King Mark, Iseult, Marriage

Iseult arrived in Cornwall feeling the need to hate its king. She hated him because she asked her parents to marry her.

Iseult arrived at the enormous Church with the need to hate his future husband. She hated him because he had sent Tristan to bring her in Cornwall and Tristan had been handsome, young and full of life.

Iseult arrived at the alter with the need to hate the man in front of her. She hated him because she knew he had not really wanted a wife and he was almost thirty-three, her father’s age.

Iseult looked at the man in front of her, for the first time. Mark’s hair was already beginning to turn grey, his eyes were red and he seemed nervous, as she was if not even more.

That man, that man that she hated wasafraid of her, of her who was going to be soon his wife.

For a second, Iseult felt powerful and full of pity.


	14. Morgause, Laurel, Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agravaine has an announcement.

"Mother!" Gareth, Mordred, Gawain, Agravaine and Gaheris said all of a sudden, in unison.

"Children," answered their mother, the Queen Morgause, even if they had stopped being children many years before "one at a time."

"I am going to Camelot! I want to be one of Arthur’s knights!" shouted Gareth, full of enthusiasm.

Morgause paled, shocked: another son lost!

"I am going to support Arthur’s choice to marry Guinevere," continued Gawain, happy and smiling, before his mother could answer back to his brother.

Morgause gasped.

"I am taking music lessons from Dinadan," tried, timidly, Gaheris.

"But-" started Morgause, just to be interrupted by Mordred, her younger son who quicly exlaimed: "I don’t really want to be king and kill Arthur. I want to write novels!"

"I hate you all!" shouted Morgause, before standing up and leaving the banquet.

"I… I am going to marry Laurel?" added Agravaine, looking at the young woman who was sitting near him.

"That was awkward," she commented.

"Our family banquets are always awkward."


	15. Arthur, Mordred, Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I never forget that Arthur ordered the drowning of the May babies.

The blacksmith was talking animately about his wife, his children, his horses.

Arthur was distractly listening at him, more intent in keeping tracks on some invisible line on the map in front of him.

Mordred instead was listening at Dan, nodding at his adventures and laughing at his jokes.

Arthur lost the topic, for a bit. Guinevere’s idea of building a wall and a series of towers on the east was replaying in his mind and suddenly his eyes moved from the map to Mordred’s face, his  _son_ 's face.

He was as pale as a sheet, his eyes fixed on Dan’s face.

The blacksmith was taken by his own words and story “- we are full. I mean, we have three dogs which require a lot of food and we don’t have time or need to take more cats. My little Anne wanted to keep them, ‘do not drown them’ she kept asking me, but my dear, I told her, what do I have to do? My wife instead is quite a determined woman. ‘Little one’, she said to Anne, ‘that’s what you do with the puppies you do not want, you throw-“

"Dan!" shouted Arthur, a bit more brusque than he intended to.

"Sire?" asked te blacksmith, confused.

"I- we will take the kittens, please. Guinevere and her ladies would love them."

"Are you sure? They’re little bast-"

"I am perfectly sure. If you could go and bring them here, please? Right now?"

Dan nodded, confused but quite glad to be able to please his king and he hurried out of the room.

"I am sorry, Mordred-" started Arthur. His face was burning.

"I don’t know why are you apologizing," answered his son, he was still pale and his hands were shaking sightly.

"Would you like to have the cats?" asked the king, shily, feeling stupid and cruel. He needed to touch his son, hug him, beg for his forgiveness, but he couldn’t moved.

"Why? I have no need for cats. You can keep them." And with these words, the son who escaped the drowning, sixteen years before, left the room, closing quitely the door after himself.


	16. Gareth, Lynette, Knitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lynette/Gareth. More or less.

"Look, Clarissant, look!"

Clarissant looks. Gareth is particularly happy that morning, quite radiant, in fact. But a part from that Clarissant has no idea of what she should be looking for.

"Did you cut your hair?" she tries, but her brother shakes his head.

"No, look at what I am wearing."

Gareth is wearing a shapeless brown tunic which clearly someone knitted especially for him because on the front, in yellow, his name is stitched.

"It is a fine tunic."

"Lynette made it for me, isn’t it amazing?"

"It is," answers Clarissant, smiling patiently. "Why don’t you show it to Gawain? I am sure he will love it!"

Gareth nods, enthusiastic and when he turns, Clarissant notices that Lynette added some more words on the back of the tunic.

In elegant white there is written: _I smell of kitchens. (I am actually a Knight of the Round Table, if lost or wounded, please, bring me back to Camelot, tower 4, Lynette’s room)._


	17. Percival, Galahad, Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blind belief.  
> It has always been for the grail for Galahad.

"It was what her grail destined for her," says Galahad, with a broken voice and Dindrane’s blood in front of him.

"It was the grail wish," says Galahad, when he is named king of Sarras with Bors and Perceva at his side.

"It is our destiny, that’s why the grail took us here," says Galahad, looking at their people and longing for Camelot and his father.

It has always been for the grail for Galahad.

Until Perceval’s death.

"God will save him, the grail will save him," says Galahad when the ice breaks and Perceval falls under wanter, returning to Sarras feverish and cold. He doesn’t believe it.


	18. Dindrane, Lucan, Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucan actually found the Grail.

"You are here for the Grail, valiant knight."

Lucan, surprised, stopped the horse, watching among the leaves and the trees of the forest.

"Sir knight, you are looking for the Grail," repeated the voice. It was the voice of a woman. Lucan had never heard her voice before.

"Well, I guess my quest if Grail-related but-"

The mysterious woman came out of the woods. She was very beautiful, with long blond hair and calm brown eyes. “I know, knight. But I fear the Grail is not for you.”

"But I-"

"You may console yourself with the fact that you at least tried-"

Lucan rised his voice a bit. “Iactuallyhavethegrail.”

The lady stopped, confused. “What?”

"But it was a mistake. Sir Kay was reorganizing the kitchen and suddenly he was ‘Look at this cup, isn’t it ridiculous’ and then Morgana arrived, you know her, she is always where she needs to be, and starts screaming at us ‘That’s the Grail! Heretics!’. You know, she was raised in a nunnery, that’s a touchy subject and then she asks us how did we find it and sir Kay answers ‘Well, the Fisher King married and it seems like that damn penny-pincher decided to recycle some old pot-"

"Enough!"

Lucan looked at her, blushing. He felt kind of guilty. All the knights were out looking for that cup and all for nothing. “I think… I will give it to you?”

The woman nodded, severe and quite irritated.


	19. Lancelot, Guinevak, Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steampunk au. Also Lancelot is a woman.

"Where are we going?" asked Lance, for the tenth time.

"To my sister’s restaurant, I’ve already told you," answered Guinevere, rolling her eyes. She knew Lance didn’t trust her (not enough) but she couldn’t do anything now.

Arthur needed her and he needed Lance. As the Champion of Lake City, Lance had an incredible popularity.

"I am not hungry," replied Lance, without a trace of humor in her voice.

"You will be, now follow me and hush."

For once, Lance obeyed, deciding to ask questions later when they would probably be off the night streets and the eyes of Morgause’s Controllers.

When they arrived at a little isolated restourant they stopped. The place had clearly seen better times in the past and appeared as a quite depressing sight.

"I have no intention of eating-"

Guinevere took Lance’s hand and they entered. A mechanical voice greeted them but at ‘-to our lovely restaur’ it suddenly stopped.

"Guinevere!" called the woman behind the counter. Lance had to admit that there were no doubts about her identity. Guinevak had Guinevere’s eyes and smile.

"Guinevak, this is Lance of the Lake," said Guinevere, pointing at the armored woman beside her.

"No offense, madam, but I am not eating in your restourant."

Guinevak gaped at her. “You are a prick. And I take offense. But you are not here to eat.”

Without any more words, Guinevak turned around and took a little key from the necklace she was wearing. She pressed down some of the buttons of the counter of the desk, too quick for Lance to follow her, and finally she used the little key in one of the locks on the wall.

The wall -which clearly had not been a very stable wall- opened slowly with a creaking sound.

"It’s… a secret passage?" asked Lance, finally shocked and surprised.

"It’s our refuge. And you are welcome."


	20. Merlin, Clarissant, Selkie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin tries to understand what Clarissant is.

When Merlin meets Clarissant he knows there is something different in her.

She is a simple girl with long red hair and a round nose, but her eyes are watery and long for the sea.

"What are you?" he asks her. Clarissant smiles, before answering: "Did you mean ‘who am I’? I am Clarissant, the daughter of Morgause."

"No, you are not. I know Morgause, she may have raised you but you have not her blood."

"Why? What do you think I am?"

"You are a witch?"

"Maybe," Clarissant shrugs. "Maybe not. Maybe I am becoming a witch."

"You are not human," tries Merlin, looking at her face. Her skin is ridiculously pale, almost blue.

"I like you. You know spells that Morgause doesn’t. You are useful. And you are not human either, you are the son of a demon. If you will help me, teach me your magic, I will promise I will tell you who I am."

"First you must explain to me  _why_  you want my spells.”

"To find my brother. A mad woman stole him from my mother’s arms, a mad woman who had lost all her other children because of the king’s wars."

Merlin nods. Clarissant’s face seems sincere, eager. “Then, tell me what are you.”

"I come from the sea. I am a selkie and I’ve hidden my pelt into a cave, maybe one day I will show it to you. My mother calls me Dindrane and I am a Nimue, a seeker of the ones who were lost in your human world."

Merlin shakes her hand. She is a selkie. The power of a selkie- Merlin will help her find her brother and then he will look for her pelt.

Maybe the power of the selkie will help  _him_  to save Arthur’s kingdom and himself.


	21. Ettard, Tor, Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superheroes AU. We all know what Pellinore did.

Tor opened his eyes all of a sudden on that Christmas night.

He could see projected on the wall the soft lights of his Christmas tree. Which was strange because he was alone at home and he always switched them off.

“Who is there?” he called. No one answered.

He got off the bed, advancing towards the open door of his room, to enter into the living room. He took his mother’s umbrella, ready to use it if necessary.

“Are you a thief? Or am I crazy?” he tried again.

“Merry Christmas.”

Tor jumped, dropping the umbrella for the surprise.

There was a woman in his living room. She had a mask on her face and she was dressed in green and gold. “I am not a thief, before you ask me again. Au contraire. I am here to bring you a gift.”

“What- what gift? How did you enter?”

“I like the posters in your room. All those superheroes. The great Pendragon, the Lady of the Lake, Merlin, Pellinore… Don’t you want to become one of them?”

“Who are you?” asked Tor this time.

“Please, don’t call me Santa Claus. My name is Ettard and  _I_  am one of them also if I don’t fight exactly in their same league. Let’s say that I have a little grudge with the Lady of the Lake.”

“You are a supervilain!” shouted Tor. Everyone knew that the Lady of the Lake was the Pendragon’s most trusted ally and everyone in England had something to thank the Pendragon for.

“It’s a point of view, of course. But I have another story to tell you, if you care to listen. It’s about your father. Then you can decide the side you want to fight for.”


	22. Guinevere, Elaine of Corbenic, Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elaine meets Lancelot's lover for the first time.

Elaine tried to get up, without much success.

She had a bad fall and her horse Lily was ignoring her calls.

Brisane had been right, Elaine should have never left the castle alone. But she had been desperate to see Lancelot. Her Lancelot.

"Are you hurt?"

Elaine turned. A woman was looking at her. She had managed to take Lily’s rein and in her other hand she had the rain of a beautiful white mare. 

"Yes, I mean- a bit. That is my horse."

"I imagined," smiled the woman. She wasn’t exactly beautiful. Brisane would have disapproved the way the stranger was dressing (with a red dress which was awful with her strange orange hair) and smiling (like… like a peasant girl) but Elaine felt strangely charmed by the woman’s sincere smile.

"Let me help," said the stranger, giving Elaine a hand to get up and helping her to get on Lily. "Where are you going?"

"To Camelot."

"Wonderful!" laughed the stranger. "I am the queen of Camelot!"


	23. Sagramore, Aglovale, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aglovale/OC. Because there are more people in Camelot than famous knights and handsome noblewomen.

"You are in love."

Aglovale nearly jumped. For a man who was twice his size, Sagramore had always been incredibly quiet while moving.

"Why?" asked Pellinore’s son, trying to look casual and bored.

"You have been carving in that piece of wood all morning. And that is a heart. And  _that_  is another heart.”

Aglovale looked down at the knife and the wood. He had to admit that there were a lot of little hearts.

"Who is the lucky maiden? One of Guinevere’s handmaidens? Or is it a knight?” asked Sagramore, sitting beside his friend. It was no secret (not even to the little disapproving Perceval) that Aglovale’s tastes run in both directions.

"It _is_ a him," answered the knight, nervous.

"Who is he, then? It’s not Lancelot, is it? Because the list of damsels and knights who are infatuated by our handsome champions is a bit too long."

"No. Not Lancelot. Not- not a knight."

Sagramore frowned, surprised, massaging his black beard. “A man who is not a knight. The king?!”

"No. No, Sagramore, he is- he is just a blacksmith. He lives near Tintagel, in a village. You surely do remember when I was wounded and I took refuge in a village and there I met him- he is not a  _knight_.”

Sagramore bursted into a sudden laugh. “That’s what’s troubling you?” he asked, trying to not run out of air, among the tears. “Don’t say ‘he is  _just_  a blacksmith’. He must be a damn good blacksmith if you are in love with him.”

Aglovale smiled, feeling his own face burning. “Yes, he is. A damn fine man.”


	24. Ector, Melou, Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I decided that Ector was 20 when he adopted Arthur, Arthur was 15 when he conceived Mordred, Mordred was 19 when Melou was born so basically now Arthur is 33 and Ector is 54. Just saying.

Arthur takes the little baby in his arms. Kay is trying really hard not to smile at Melou’s sleepy face and Mordred is twitching as if he doesn’t completely trust his father to not let the baby fall.

Guinevak smiles at her husband, taking his hand.

Suddenly a voice calls from the hall. “Let me see, let me see!”

"Father!" recognizes Kay, opening the door of the little room to let his father Ector enter.

"I am a great grandfather," says the big ruffly man. He feels old, but not that old to be a great grandfather also if his hair are already all white and he can’t fight anymore because of his wounded leg.

"Yes, you are," smiles Arthur. Mordred stops twitching. "We told him, of course. He is still your grandfather. I hope it’s all right, Mordred."

"Of- of course," manages to answer Mordred, who suddenly feels suffocated by all that family.

The imponent figure of Ector advances toward Arthur and with incredibly careful hands he takes the tiny Melou in his own arms. Melou whines softly before stirring and taking one of Ector’s old and big hands into a hug.


	25. Steampunk AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steampunk AU where kings are falling and Guinevere is a journalist.  
> Some mentions of Arthur/Guinevere.

The vial was now empty in Morgause’s hands but the only thing she regretted was not being able to see Uther agonizing on the floor, spitting blood and cursing, slowly dying. The fact that her mother’s rapist and her father’s murderer was finally dead was not enough but it would have to do.

"Maybe, it is enough that is is because of me," said Morgause, Governor of Orkneys, after her husband’s death. The void in her, filled with anger, wasn’t vanishing but maybe that night she would not have to dream her mother’s desperate eyes or the moment Uther sent her to Lot. 

Morgana nodded. 

Ambrosius had given Morgause the recipe of the poison, a deadly liquid impossible to detect by smell or colour, and Morgana had administered it in Uther’s last meal.  
"It is enough for me, sister," replied Morgana, the witch who used to live in the woods and had decided to come back to civilization for revenge and sisterly love.

 

  
Guinevere was writing an article about potatoes. Not that there was a lot to say about potatoes or vegetables, a part from mentioning the way the soils got impoverished because of the wars. But she couldn’t even do that. She could only write about cooking potatoes.

She stopped, massaging her temples. _How the mighty have fallen_. Not that she considered herself one of the mighty but surely, she deserved better than a little column about cooking in the newspaper. She knew she deserved better.

Guinevere had had better.

She had had a newspaper of her own, “The Quest”, she had written what she had wanted, she had not stopped from writing what she felt had been right: the useless war against the kingdom of Saxons, the useless deaths of soldiers, caused only by Uther’s need to control his people with fear and threats of conquests. 

She had had told the truth, of that she had been sure: Uther was more of a king or a dictator than the President of the Cities of Camelot.  
The people had not liked her truths. The people and the police.

She had been endangering her family, her sister Guinevak had had to face difficult times for her restourant, her fiance Arthur had had to change university to get his degree in politics.

Uther was a murderer, Uther was a dictator, Uther was-

"Uther is dead! Our president has been killed!" shouted Guinevak, stumbling in the room, nearly tripping over one of the mechanical cats Bedwyr gave them as a gift the previous Liberation Day.

"Careful, Guinevak- but- what? What did you said?"

"Uther is dead! Uther!" answered Guinevak, letting herself fall in her sister’s bed. "That bastard is dead."

"I don’t believe it… he is dead," repeated Guinevere. She felt empty. The man she had considered the enemy, the monster, was dead. She felt regret, for not having been able to disgrace him, to discovers all his dirty secrets, she felt relief, but mostly she felt filled with fear.

What was going to happen now? What was going to happen to the Cities of Camelot which were born with democracy and justice but had been tainted all those years by Uther’s influence?

"Guinevak, was he killed?"

"Yes, I told you. Someone poisoned him. That’s what the people are saying."

"I didn’t want this. I fear, oh, Guinevak, I fear martyrs."

 

Arthur tried to be as quiet as he could. Bedwyr hates the noise while he worked.

The problem was that Arthur was quite bored. He was raining and he had still to find a job and his abilities with mechanicals were quite useless compared to Bedwyr’s and even compared to Kay’s mediocre abilities in fixing broken clocks and mechanical dogs.

"I could-"

"Arthur, please. Just… drink some tea," Bedwyr smiled, without looking at him.

Arthur sighed and looked at Kay who was smiling in a corner and reading one of Guinevere’s old books.

"He never tells you to just drink some tea," complained Arthur, whispering to his foster brother. Kay shrugged: "It’s because I am quiet."

"It’s because you sleep with him."

"Technically it’s because I have sex with him and then I sleep."

Bedwyr glared at them but before he could offer more tea (he just needed to finish fixing the little wheel of a client’s toy before dinner) someone knocked on the door.

Arthur jumped up, glad to have something to do. He was quite surprised when he found his teacher Merlin in front of  him.

Merlin had taught him a course at the university (Foreign Politics) and had been quite famous. People had liked to gossip about him having mystical powers or being a wizard.

Arthur had never seen any enchantments from him but had been enchanted by his speechs, by his charisma and his ideas. They had never been friends. The coldness of the relationship between the master and the student had always been quite clear, still Arthur had missed him in those months away from the university. He had missed Merlin’s brilliance.

He had never thought he would see him again if not in some pathetic revivalist party of university times.

"Mr. Emrys?"

"Oh, call me Merlin, Arthur. You are not one of my students now."

Embarassed and feeling awkward all of a sudden, Arthur decided to do the one thing Ector taught him in case of danger: “Would you like some tea?”

"Oh, no, not at all. I am just here to talk to you, Arthur."  
Bedwyr abandoned his work, glaring at the stranger old man dressed in elegant black clothes. 

"Why don’t we go upstair? My-"

"Uther is dead and you are his son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I finally posted them all on AO3. Thank you for all the support and special thanks to Allysse who not only did the podfic of this series but was basically the beta reader of this series because she corrected a lot of grammatical mistakes on her arthurian-podfics tumblr!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Arthurian advent calendar (story collection)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666726) by [allysseriordan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allysseriordan/pseuds/allysseriordan)




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